


Schism

by Spiria



Category: Tales of Legendia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Chapter 7] Walter reasserts his objective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schism

It started with the blurring. As the adrenaline rush came to a close, all at once, his bodily functions crashed—and so did he. The cold steel of the ground rushed up to him, so quickly that Walter had no time to comprehend that he'd fallen as he struggled for breath.

A voice called his name.

Walter strained to speak.

"Os—"

Tucking his chin in, he broke into a slight coughing fit. Oscar knelt down, his hands ghosting around Walter's trembling shoulders.

"Don't say anything. Save your breath!"

"The Merines."

"She's fine. The Chief took her deeper in."

In that moment, Walter's tremblings ceased as his body turned rigid. He snapped his head up, brows creased together on a pained face.

"Then I . . . "

Gathering his hands at his side, he pushed down. The instant he raised himself a meager inch off the floor, Oscar held him down by the shoulders, quashing his efforts.

Furious, Walter shouted in a low voice.

"Oscar, you—!"

Oscar shook his head, his expression stern.

"You need to rest. You can barely stand."

Walter's second attempt to stand was in vain as Oscar remained steadfast, forcing fruitless rest as the fatigue overcame Walter's momentary spike in anger. His body throbbed and ached from head to toe, threatening to suffocate him with the agony of accelerating exhaustion. He laid there, fighting for breath.

Finally, he thrust a hand out and grappled Oscar's arm.

"Walter, what are you—"

"I protect the Merines."

Walter gasped with that forced statement. His grip loosened, but maintained a semblance of strength as it held on.

Gently, Oscar repeated himself.

"The Merines is fine. She's with the Chief."

But Maurits was not the Merines' chief guard.

"Besides, to protect the Merines, you'll need to save your strength. After all, this is far from over—isn't it?"

Walter quieted at Oscar's words.

Oscar had always been the voice of reason. Whenever he lent himself to his recklessness, Oscar would appear to chastise and urge him otherwise. Even now, as Walter laid there, defeated, his pride as the Merines' chief guard splintered by the Orerines, Oscar had mustered up the nerve to stride up and hold him down.

Yet, reason had not once saved the Ferines from the cruel Orerines.

His frown deepening, Walter suddenly lunged onto his feet. He swung Oscar aside, swatting the hand that was extended to stop him.

Already, his legs trembled and his knees urged to buckle from his weight. His arms hung at his sides, some of his fingers twitching.

Walter shook his head, willing away an oncoming headache. His head throbbed still, but he ignored the pounding sensation, instead narrowing his eyes to focus his vision. His memory was intact; he could navigate the area even with this impaired sight.

Oscar made no move to stop him as Walter raised his arm rigidly—ignoring the protests of his tired limb, black wings sprouted at his back and he took flight.

* * *

His feet touched the ground first. However, his knees gave out with the dismissal of his teriques, and he crashed yet again.

A black flicker caught in the corner of his eyes. Craning his neck, Walter was on his knees by the time Oscar came into view.

"Are you sure about this? Walter."

Walter's eyes narrowed.

Oscar had lost his ignorance on the way back to the Mirage Palace, yet he deigned to oppose his childhood friend all the same. Walter's patience was at its limit—he would tolerate Oscar's audacity, but adherence to his oblivious pleas was another matter entirely. The Merines' chief guard could not afford to shirk his duties, even in fatigue.

Oscar did not understand such a burden.

Still, Oscar pleaded.

"There are others. Just bring your subordinates—they'll help you! You can't stand. I'll even ask them for you. The Chief will definitely—"

Walter snapped back, his voice hoarse.

"That doesn't matter."

"But—"

"Shut up."

Before Oscar could utter another word, Walter began dragging himself across. His legs no longer felt; nor could his hands to a certain degree, but he could move them, and thus clawed at the ground to pull his entire weight along.

Oscar said nothing. He did nothing.

Walter's heavy breathing permeated the otherwise halcyon throne room.

As he neared the large doors, he pushed forward, his fingernails glowing with the activation of his eres. The doors, though at first resistant, relented to his push and gave way without the faintest creak.

On the other side, he saw cruses of dried blood. His blood—and probably that of Senel and others.

"You should turn back, Walter."

"Shut up, Oscar."

"It's because of Senel, isn't it?"

Walter was silent.

"Why does that matter anymore? You're the Merines' chief guard. She said it herself. So—that shouldn't matter anymore."

Walter retracted his hands. Straightening against his shoulders' pain, he raised his head. Oscar towered above him, his lips pursed.

Despite his parched and weary throat, Walter fought.

" . . . What are you saying?"

Oscar's expression darkened.

"You need to let it go."

Fingers curling in and digging into his palm, Walter's fists trembled against the floor.

"Let it go, Walter."

_Give it up._

Walter's pupils constricted, and his arms screamed in agony as he slammed his hands down. His feet scrambled to support his wrecked frame, propelling him forward—but losing their short-lived momentum when he lunged at nothingness, sending him crashing onto the marked spot of his recent defeat.

Black wings fluttered about him, as if mocking his immobility.

_Senel._

His body shook.

Oscar shattered the silence.

"The Merines acknowledged you. That's what you wanted more than anything."

Walter craned his neck. His vision had blurred again—he could barely make out the image of the door on the other end. The door that Senel and the others had come through a handful of hours ago.

Senel was a thief.

"What did he take from you?"

Nothing.

Everything.

That day, five years ago—Senel had stumbled into the village, appealing to the kind-hearted Ferines that had suspected naught in an Orerines child starved of love. He had appealed to the Merines and her sister, stolen their love, taken and corrupted it to destroy their innocence, desecrated them—

Walter gripped the floor, his anger flaring. His face was warm despite the sweat that had cooled him on the journey, but his face was clammy and his legs even colder. His head pounded fiercely. He grit his teeth.

He'll die.

Even now, his body was failing him.

"Even if it costs me my life . . . "

He should turn back now. They should turn back and return to Maurits, and enlist members of the guard to stand watch.

His teriques circulated behind him, edging to the throne room. Urging Walter to follow, Oscar laid his hand on the door.

Walter laid motionless.

Then—

"I'll kill him."

Oscar stopped.

Walter's breathing grew heavier.

"I'll kill Senel."

The black teriques vanished, then reappeared before Walter to swoop down and snatch up by the shoulders. Its claws dug into the fabric of his attire and his flesh—and seemed to hover in place for a moment before it tore down the hall, abandoning the open entrance behind them.


End file.
